Sunday, July 18, 2010
In the Bosom of Klecker, Saturday July 18, 2010
I'm sitting in Stan's Cigar Lounge, three wooden benches in Camp Klecker, DynCorp's older compound in Baghdad. I can see a few concrete bunkers, in case mortars drop here. Generators make a constant thrumming sound, diesel exhaust not quite muffled. I am smoking a cigar, sipping water from a one-liter bottle. Last night, several IPAs sat around and talked. You learn what's happening that way. It's hard for me to care very much, yet I can't ignore their observations because they are the ones actually doing something here in Iraq. Off to the right is the large plywood bin overflowing with used bed linen. I don't need any, or I'd paw through the pile until I found a bottom sheet. Yeah, my issued linen is a single flat sheet and a blanket. Not quite like the Amman Sheraton, but adequate. I've learned that you don't need to be quite as fussy about a lot of things as you thought.
In the distance I see the green Evergreen container that is one of many here. That's not the ATO storage one, it's a similar container. Lots of gravel, a few quonset-shaped tents. The gym is part of the bus stop where people wait for a ride to BIAP or Liberty Pad, so they can go out to their mission. I look at the white board merely out of curiosity, since I won't be needing that information. In a week, I'll be at the bus stop at 0630 for my ride to Baghdad International Airport and my Royal Jordanian flight to Amman, where I'll catch a quick shower, a steak dinner with real beer, and a few hours of sleep before heading back to Queen Alia for my Air France flight to Paris and a connector to San Francisco.
In nine days, I'll be home. Home for good.
Two years in Iraq have sharpened my perspective. I know what hard work is like, what young military kids do, and I'm impressed. They are all good! But this isn't about them, it's about me. I will be here for a week, because I made good time traveling and I would rather spend a few extra days here than miss my flight.
I've had some satisfying moments here- working with Iraqi Customs, with US Marines and US Army units. I've learned how to get things done when you have very little. I've survived two Ramadans, really hot months. I've learned how to use Space-A as a mode of transportation, even getting my first-ever Sherpa ride a couple of nights ago. The KBR folks at the Bucca Post Office remembered me when I got to Basrah. I've done some drills with Marines, learning to shoot various crew-served weapons, though I never actually fired a real round through any of them. My issued M-4 and my M-9 Beretta, both of which shoot very well, went to the Dyn Armorer today. I gave up my armored vest and kevlar helmet, too. I've got my own clothes, a few cigars in my double-water-bottle humidor (two bottles cut off and jammed together), and not much else. That's what I'll have when I get on the plane.
Tomorrow morning, we'll have our regular 0900 meeting, after which I'll try to catch a ride to Camp Butler and finish out-processing.
My cigar is getting short, and even though it's been dark for an hour, it's still hot and muggy outside. The horizon is lit a sickly orange color from the lights around the runway. Must be some dust in the air, too, because the stars aren't visible. The moon, however, is looking cold and white, with a chunk missing from the seven o'clock to ten o'clock portion.
Jimmy Buffet's radiomargaritaville is keeping me company, getting to my computer from the MWR's wireless modem. One bar isn't much bandwidth, but it's enough.
I've got an airplane book waiting- Jason Bourne may have found his biological son, with lots of terrorists and CIA "kill-on-sight" orders.
I'm bored. I may stay here until the battery runs down rather than go inside and read. Cabin fever is hard to take, even if it's just for a week.
Yep, a week from now, I'll be trying to get some sleep for the next day's early show time for the ride to Baghdad International. Not sure what I'll do in the mean time. I'll have to learn to deal with boredom.
In the distance I see the green Evergreen container that is one of many here. That's not the ATO storage one, it's a similar container. Lots of gravel, a few quonset-shaped tents. The gym is part of the bus stop where people wait for a ride to BIAP or Liberty Pad, so they can go out to their mission. I look at the white board merely out of curiosity, since I won't be needing that information. In a week, I'll be at the bus stop at 0630 for my ride to Baghdad International Airport and my Royal Jordanian flight to Amman, where I'll catch a quick shower, a steak dinner with real beer, and a few hours of sleep before heading back to Queen Alia for my Air France flight to Paris and a connector to San Francisco.
In nine days, I'll be home. Home for good.
Two years in Iraq have sharpened my perspective. I know what hard work is like, what young military kids do, and I'm impressed. They are all good! But this isn't about them, it's about me. I will be here for a week, because I made good time traveling and I would rather spend a few extra days here than miss my flight.
I've had some satisfying moments here- working with Iraqi Customs, with US Marines and US Army units. I've learned how to get things done when you have very little. I've survived two Ramadans, really hot months. I've learned how to use Space-A as a mode of transportation, even getting my first-ever Sherpa ride a couple of nights ago. The KBR folks at the Bucca Post Office remembered me when I got to Basrah. I've done some drills with Marines, learning to shoot various crew-served weapons, though I never actually fired a real round through any of them. My issued M-4 and my M-9 Beretta, both of which shoot very well, went to the Dyn Armorer today. I gave up my armored vest and kevlar helmet, too. I've got my own clothes, a few cigars in my double-water-bottle humidor (two bottles cut off and jammed together), and not much else. That's what I'll have when I get on the plane.
Tomorrow morning, we'll have our regular 0900 meeting, after which I'll try to catch a ride to Camp Butler and finish out-processing.
My cigar is getting short, and even though it's been dark for an hour, it's still hot and muggy outside. The horizon is lit a sickly orange color from the lights around the runway. Must be some dust in the air, too, because the stars aren't visible. The moon, however, is looking cold and white, with a chunk missing from the seven o'clock to ten o'clock portion.
Jimmy Buffet's radiomargaritaville is keeping me company, getting to my computer from the MWR's wireless modem. One bar isn't much bandwidth, but it's enough.
I've got an airplane book waiting- Jason Bourne may have found his biological son, with lots of terrorists and CIA "kill-on-sight" orders.
I'm bored. I may stay here until the battery runs down rather than go inside and read. Cabin fever is hard to take, even if it's just for a week.
Yep, a week from now, I'll be trying to get some sleep for the next day's early show time for the ride to Baghdad International. Not sure what I'll do in the mean time. I'll have to learn to deal with boredom.
